


Death Immortal

by kalypsobean



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-25
Updated: 2007-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-10 22:23:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalypsobean/pseuds/kalypsobean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The greatest danger is the one you do not know until it is too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death Immortal

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Slashy Santa 2007 and given to Larien Elengasse  
> Italics denote telepathic speech.

I.

They brought Haldir back on a makeshift stretcher, made from his own cape tied between dead branches with grass and held in place by those of the patrol who carried him. His bow rested on his chest, beneath his hands, and seemed even darker than usual next to skin that had lost its vitality somewhere between the edge of the forest and the city borders. The difference between his hands and the hands of those who held him was marked by the absence of that luminosity an Elf's fëa lent to his form; Haldir's fëa had withdrawn to somewhere deep within his heart and was awaiting release. To all who saw him carried through the city, he appeared lifeless, a characteristic that was only enhanced by the blood that slowly spread through his clothes, staining them to an extent that they no longer matched the moss packed into the wounds. His hair, too, was discoloured, marked by blood mixed with something black and unnamed. The lament for Haldir began before the healer placed her hands on his stomach, for he was dead in all but the very edge of his soul, where his fëa had retreated. 

 

II.

The rest of the patrol stood before Galadriel and Celeborn; they were unaffected by the peaceful light around them. They had not changed or bathed since their arrival; their hands were still marked by Haldir's blood and their hearts were sore, their shadows dark. They kept their heads cast down though Galadriel bade them not fear her. The weight of their failure was heavy on their shoulders, and they avoided the eyes of Rúmil and Orophin; too young to patrol themselves, they had come to hear of what had happened to their brother. They sat near Galadriel's feet; Rúmil had tugged the hem of her skirt towards him and watched the patrol from behind the translucent cloth, while Orophin only hugged his knees to his chest and watched Rúmil.

_You need nor fear recrimination here; you did not abandon Haldir in his time of need. His injury was unavoidable, perhaps inevitable._ Galadriel's voice echoed through the minds of all in the glade, but none dared to contest her despite their guilt.

_Tell me of this new evil in our home,_ Celeborn spoke; his mental voice was calm and even, quieter than Galadriel's but just as penetrating, though he too kept his head down and fought to not betray his own warring emotions.

The patrol replied with both images and words, haphazardly relayed in pieces by one Elf and then another, sometimes two or three speaking at the same time. They lived as a unit and so their story was told that way, as best they could. They spoke of creatures with clear, shiny skin that, when pierced, bled something that flowed in a manner like oil. They wielded weapons of a strange make; twisted black metal that shone fireless in the sunlight, bit sharply and narrowly but tore at the skin and left poison behind. The armour they wore was of similar kind and moulded rather than crafted; they stood waist high and appeared like animals in the shadow, indistinguishable and heartless. They attacked indiscriminately, without formation or plan, yet inflicted a high proportion of damage.

_We did not mean to leave him,_ said the tallest, an Elf with dark hair and piercing eyes, _but we were too few to counter effectively. Haldir ordered us to retreat, but he did not follow. We did not realise that he had been cut off from us until we turned to find him not with us; we returned to find him as he is now._

 

III.

_They are called Orcs, soldiers of the Dark Lord himself. They are bred from the ground and the light of the earth and embody the darkness they herald. It is true that Mordor is once again a threat if they have reached our home; they will have passed through the regions of Men and south into the Greenwood by now._

Galadriel spoke quietly with Celeborn, in the privacy of their own talan, where none other save Haldir entered without invitation. They sat alongside each other but did not touch; Galadriel's hair brushed over Celeborn's hands with the breeze and Celeborn moved them away from her reach.

_But what of Haldir?_ It was the only thought he had, and they were the only words he could think of to say. Galadriel reached for his hand with hers and he allowed her to hold it; her touch was cool but did nothing to soothe his heart.

_The mirror is silent._

 

IV.

The ritual was time-consuming; it required attention for many hours before it could be performed, in preparation and purification. Celeborn meditated by Haldir's body; he sat on the ground with his legs crossed and his feet hooked beneath his knees, trying to focus his mind on Haldir while his thoughts wandered through dark halls of emotional turmoil. He fancied he heard the cries of tortured souls and the grind of chains on metal as their pain was drawn from them to feed the shadows; he thought he heard Haldir's voice and he opened his eyes, but Haldir was still. 

Night fell and the city was silent; the lament was over and the air was heavy on Celeborn's shoulders as he stood. It was time; he would not be disturbed until morning, when the healer would take Haldir's body if he failed, and would find them both if he succeeded. There was much to risk, for his memory was clouded and there was no time to send to Mithlond for aid; Haldir's fëa would not linger unsent forever, and already Haldir's face wore an expression of eternal peace rather than pain. Under the light of the full moon, Haldir seemed to have some of his natural light returned to him, but the coolness of his skin and the stained bandage around his waist betrayed the illusion; Celeborn cried as he tore the bandage away. Though cleaned, the wound was long and deep and outlined with black poison; it was an Orc-wound, inflicted by a jagged sword. Celeborn saw the last moments of Haldir's life as he placed his hands on the wound and began to sing. He called to the mellyrn and the spirits within them; he called to the grasses and the lakes that sustained them, and to the animals who shared their home. He felt the spirit of the wood stir within him and he drew on its strength - its vitality and the life within it - as he reached out to Haldir's fëa with his own, calling it back to the forest it called home.

If it was the spirit of Lothlórien alone that Haldir responded to, Celeborn would have been happy enough to see Haldir's eyes open. Somehow, though, Celeborn moved as if he was guided by the hand of Yavanna herself; he found the peace within him that he had not found before and with it a certainty that he had not erred. He drew the poison from Haldir's stomach and cast it away; it was carried by a wind that seemed to pass just for that reason, and did not mar the light of the moon or the trees. The wound closed easily beneath his hands once it was gone, for like a malignant force it had countered all the good that had been done against it. Celeborn felt his fëa strengthen within him and then split; it was a heartache that would have caused him to cry out in pain had he not seen Haldir's chest rise with a breath, and fall again beneath the weight of that half of Celeborn's fëa that passed from him into Haldir's body, replacing the damaged parts of Haldir's spirit with a wood-heritage as strong as Celeborn's own. A leaf landed by Haldir's head and then another on his chest; Celeborn took his hands away and closed his eyes. The mellyrn gave their blessing and guarded his rest until dawn warmed them both.

It was Haldir's voice that brought him out of the trance, long after the leaves had ceased to fall.

 

V.

_Haldir still has a part to play in this world; some role in events that can not yet be seen. He had a choice, that of whether to take that part or whether to surrender it for eternal rest in the halls of Mandos._

_He will pay a price for that choice; if he leaves the shelter of Lothlórien, he will die. ___

__Celeborn cried for Haldir's freedom, though the mirror stayed silent when he asked it how long they would have._ _


End file.
